


Luck of the Irish

by DevilishKurumi, kinomatika



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, fic with art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishKurumi/pseuds/DevilishKurumi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinomatika/pseuds/kinomatika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a vacation to Ireland with his brother and father, Karkat accidentally runs into an Irish dude named Eridan.  They have some drinks and then bone.  Written for Kino during our trip to Ireland; includes NSFW art inside drawn by her.  :3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luck of the Irish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kinomatika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinomatika/gifts).



> this is your last warning there are pictures in this fic and they're nsfw so yeah  
> oh yeah also bear with me i haven't used ao3 for art before so if something's janky let me know

            You sit in the back of the room, kind of bored but willingly suffering for the sake of your family, and you watch as your brother forcibly restrains himself from raising his hand to interrupt the storyteller.  You'd thought that something called "A Night of Food, Folklore and Fairies" would be pretty cheesy and full of screaming kids, but the room is packed only with adults and they're all in various stages of happy drunkenness.  Kankri looks like he wants a debate, though, and you see your dad step on his foot under the table to keep him from saying anything.

            The group applauds for the woman speaking as she finishes her stories, and the room falls to the bustle of conversation as soups and fish cakes are brought out by the dozen to the people sitting around.  Kankri talks about how his sociology professor always said that potato stereotypes about the Irish were incorrect.  You try not to hit him upside the head; your dad ends up doing it for you, a lighter doff than you'd have gone with, and Kankri turns scarlet and busies himself with his appetizer.  The waiter comes by and asks if you want another cider, and you ignore Kankri's patronizing eyebrow quirk as you enthusiastically accept the offer.  You're only twenty, and so unlike Kankri, the novelty of being sold alcohol hasn't worn off for you.  Not like it matters; Kankri refuses to drink.  He takes everything your dad stands for to the furthest extreme, and it really fucking grates.

            Your third cider of the night shows up and you take about three gulps before you realize that you really do not need a third drink.  What you need is a bathroom, and then probably a cigarette.  Those both sound awesome.  You excuse yourself as quickly as you can with Kankri giving you the third degree about where you're going and head up the stairs of the pub to get to the bathroom.  On your way back down, you hear the storyteller singing to another group of people.  You have to admit, she has a great voice.

            You head all the way down and out into the chilly air, pulling the collar of your jacket up around your neck and hunching as you pass by the pub and step onto the street.  You know you can smoke in the courtyard, but you're so used to American standards of living and the dirty looks you'd get if you tried smoking near a doorway, so you figure it's better to be safe than sorry.

            It's only while you're futilely trying to light your cigarette with hotel matches that you realize you can still hear singing.  It may be another dinner party with a different host, but you doubt a voice could carry through the closed windows so clearly.  Your curiosity gets the best of you, and you move down the sidewalk a bit, looking around the corner to see a tall, lanky man hauling out a large garbage bag, singing halfway between muttering and normal speech volume.  He heaves the bag up and into a dumpster, then turns on his heel and suddenly spots you.

 

            "What?" he snaps, and you can see the tips of his ears turning red.  Shit.

            "Uh."  You hold up your cigarette.  "Got a light?"

            Yeah, real fucking flawless, Karkat.  You're a smooth goddamn operator.

            "Oh," he says, and he adjusts the gloves on his hands before reaching into a pocket.  "Yeah, a'course."  He comes closer, and under the streetlight you see that his bangs, hanging out from under his scali cap, are a deep purple.  The rest of the hair you can see is auburn, or maybe really deep red?  You don't know.  It's hard to tell.  He pulls out a box of matches, not unlike the ones you have, except he doesn't have any trouble striking the flame up in the wind, holding the match up to the end of your cigarette.  You inhale and try not to visibly shudder against the wind chill, and he barely moves his wrist to douse the flame.  "All right, then?"

            "Yeah, thanks."  Then, like your mouth is on some kind of marathon sprint and it doesn't realize the finish line was ten meters ago, you keep on by asking,  "Are you one of the hosts or something?"

            He bristles immediately.  "What makes you say anythin' like that?" he snaps.

            "Just how you were singing and all."

            "Well, no, I'm not.  Not that I'd want to be, dealin' with a bunch'a drunken tourists wantin' to know about fuckin' fairies an' other fake nonsense."  He sort of trips over his "w" sounds, sounding as though no one ever taught him how to properly say them.  You find it borderline interesting - or you would, if he wasn't bitching so damned much.  "The only good part'a the gig is singin', an' I don't need'a be paid for that kind'a thing."

            "Oh, okay," you say.  You haven't had nearly enough cider to deal with this kind of random oversharing from (admittedly cute) ornery Irishmen.  "Just wondering," you add.

            "Did you think it was okay?  Is that why you were askin'?"

            Ugh.  "Yeah, I guess.  It was fine."

            You wonder if it'd be too rude to just drop your cigarette and head inside, but you decide against it.  He's not being overly obnoxious, and he's moderately attractive, you guess, and all you've got otherwise is sitting around with your dad and brother.  Might as well see what other avenues have to offer.

            "Yeah, well, like I said.  Don't need to have tourists listen to me bullshit about fake magic stuff.  The people who do that sort'a thing here have some weird belief in that shit, an' I don't need to be fakin' it."

            "I guess I get it," you say.  "Not much of a fairy-ring kind of guy, huh?"

            "Nope.  My dad, yeah, he was all about that crap, but everyone knew he was just talkin' outta his ass."  He looks around briefly before pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.  You hold out your own smoke and he uses it as a light, nodding his appreciation once he steps back.  "Should probably be gettin' back to work, but haulin' out the trash can wait a few minutes."  He sticks out a gloved hand in your direction.  "Eridan," he says.

            You grasp his hand and give it a solid shake.  "Karkat."

            "Nice to meet you.  American?"

            You arch an eyebrow.  "Irish?"

            You didn't expect him to find it funny, but he does, his laugh a little wheezy and sounding almost as though he's covering up a cough.  "Could be," he chuckles.

            You grin and inhale and when you speak again, it's with some degree of relief.  You'd sort of expected that you'd spend this entire family holiday barely interacting with the locals, stuck dealing with your brother and his obnoxious lectures about shit he learned off Wikipedia before the flight; it's good to know that maybe that won't be entirely the case.

            "You're gonna miss the next bit'a story if you loiter much longer," Eridan says.  He shifts on his feet as he talks, stuck on some kind of awkward nonchalance.

            You shrug.  "It doesn't matter, my brother will probably give me his lecture notes afterwards.  He's kind of a neurotic undergrad."

            "Oh yeah?  Worst kinda people.  Heard someone interrupt one'a the hosts once an' argue about the definition'a fairies."

            "My dad's on top of keeping him down in his seat, luckily.  I'd probably be the first one to kick him out if he did open his gargantuan mouth and started spewing the Wiki article for leprechaun lore in the 6th century or whatever the fuck he's read this time.  The last thing I need is him mortally embarrassing me in a foreign country."

            Eridan looks amused, which is good, because you're pretty sure that was some sharing on par with his complaints about the hosting gig.  "Are you on holiday with just your family, then?"

            "Yeah, just my dad and my brother.  I could have brought a friend, but he's got school and shit, so he passed up."

            "His loss," Eridan says, "Or his gain, dependin' on how much you like your brother."

            "Definitely his gain," you say with a lopsided smirk.  "But there's a pub near my hotel and my brother doesn't drink, so I have a way to escape."

            "Oh yeah?  More for the rest'a us, then."

            Your cigarette's burned almost to the filter, so you drop it on the ground and stamp it out.  Eridan tilts his head.  "I guess I should probably get back in," you say, surprised to find yourself a little reluctant to leave.  "Before my dad actually starts wondering where I went."

            "I've got work," Eridan admits.  "But bein' a gentleman an' all, I should ask if you're gonna demean yourself to drinkin' on your own once all'a this fairy business is over.  'Cos if you are, I might know a place or two to get a decent drink."

            You definitely hadn't expected that.  ...Is he asking you out for drinks?  Or is he looking for like, a mate or whatever?  Maybe he just doesn't want to pay for his own drinks and thinks you can be conned into paying instead.

            Eridan balances on one foot and stubs out his cigarette on the heel of his shoe, wobbling a bit before finding his center.  "I guess I could do that," you say.  "It's not like I'd be doing anything else tonight."

            "Good to know I'm not offerin' drinks to someone with a busy schedule," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets; you can see his ears pinking again, and that makes you uncharacteristically pleased with yourself. "I get off work about half-ten, so it shouldn't be too much trouble meetin' up an' all."

            "Yeah, sounds good."  You rock on your heels and shove your hands into your pockets.  "I guess I'll just see you then."

            "Right, good."  Eridan's eyes dart across the pavement briefly before he looks up to meet your eyes.  You can't tell if he's giving you the once-over or not, but you guess you can pretend he did, if only to give yourself the boost of confidence you need to shoot him a thumbs up and turn around to head inside.

            You climb the stairs and sneak back into the room; the host is only just now starting her discussion.  Kankri gives you a mildly annoyed look, but your dad just smiles and pats your seat, bringing you back in.  He doesn't mention the fact that your cider is a lot less full than when you left, though, and you don't ask.

            By the end of the dinner, you're full up on good food and sober enough to be anxious about meeting some stranger for drinks.  You loiter as your dad and Kankri head down the stairs, separating yourself just a bit, and keep your eye out for that scali cap and lock of purple hair as you pass through the bustling pub courtyard.

            "Karkat, hurry up, it's cold," Kankri says, and you roll your eyes and catch up to your family, shoving your hands in your pockets.

            "Actually, I think I'm going to hang out here for a little while," you say.  You're twenty years old, so you figure you can make a bid for freedom.

            "Do you want us to stay?" your dad asks.  You shake your head.

            "No, don't worry.  Kankri'll get grouchy if you don't tuck him in with a book about the racism in _Brave_ or something."

            "Hey!"

            You push Kankri away before he can get close enough to poke you in the chest.  "Go on, you guys.  I'll be back later, I have a key to the room."

            "Don't wake me up with your drunken antics," Kankri huffs, then absconds.  Your dad gives you a pat on the shoulder, then follows.  You really have to appreciate the fact that he doesn't try to stop you from doing things you actually want to do.

            It's a quarter after ten when you start really thinking that maybe this isn't such a good idea.  You don't usually go out with people you barely met - hell, you don't usually go out with people in general.  You don't get out much, period.  You could probably blame Sollux for at least part of your general antisocial behavior.

            Shit, this was a bad idea.  The guy's probably a total fucking ass, and who knows why he was so adamant about taking you to get drinks?  He's probably skeevy.  This was a stupid idea.

            "Hey," Eridan says as he approaches, still wearing his cap and his gloves.  You realize that his thick glasses frames actually touch the bill of his hat.

            "Oh," you say, because you were just about to leave, "Hey."

            Eridan bounces briefly on his feet before pointing his thumb towards the street.  "If you're ready, I know a place a bit up the block.  Unless you wanna just stay here," he adds awkwardly as he notices you glancing away.  You wince.

            "No, that's cool.  Anywhere's fine.  So long as you're buying."

            Eridan bristles all over again, scowling at you even as he puffs up his chest like you've personally offended his entire family or something.  "What do I look like, some kinda layabout?  I'm not about to ask somebody to get a drink only to expect 'em to pay for it.  That'd be downright fuckin' rude'a me."

            "Don't get so bitchy about it, I was only teasing.  If you're going to get pissed off everything I say like that, you're going to develop a fucking ulcer."

            "Well, it's rude to assume I'm not gonna be a gentleman about it," Eridan snaps, but he ducks his head in what you guess is embarrassment.  It's kind of cute.  You wonder how much more riled up he's going to get before the night is over.

            "C'mon, just take me wherever you're taking me."  You nudge his leg with your foot, and reluctantly he pushes past a group of university students.  You follow him to the street, jogging a little to catch up with him so you can walk side by side.  "So, how far away are we heading?"

            "Not that far.  A block up the road.  It's not a place tourists go, so most'a the booze isn't so fuckin' overpriced.  It's a good place, anyway."

            "I'm not going to complain either way."

            "You better not, I'm fuckin' payin'."

            "You're pretty bitchy for a guy who asked a perfect stranger out, you know that?  Is that a fixture of Irish dating culture or something?"

            Maybe you weren't supposed to say anything about this being pretty fucking obviously a date, because Eridan goes red and hunches his shoulders, his steps stumbling a bit as he tries to look at you and look away in the same blink.

            "Pretty fuckin' presumptuous talk there, Kar.  Who said anythin' about this bein' some kinda date?"

            "I did just now.  Kind of in an assholeish manner, but if I'm wrong, I guess I'm just going to have to buy you a round as an apology."

            Okay, that was more direct than you were really expecting out of yourself.  You guess you should feel proud.  Instead, you just feel more than a little embarrassed.

            "Well, even if it'd mean a free drink," Eridan mumbles, "I guess I can't say I wasn't goin' into this with somethin' date-like in mind.  Thought I'd be a gentleman an' not be so fuckin' forward about it, so thanks for ruinin' that."

            "You really like to think you're a gentleman, huh."

            "An' hopefully I'll prove it to you, if you'd stop bein' such a dick about it."

            You chuckle and dig a cigarette out of your pocket, managing to use your own matches for once, and Eridan doesn't really say much as anything as you smoke and walk almost in step beside him.  You think you might've embarrassed him a little too much with that bit about the dating thing, but that's okay.  You're pretty sure you can deal with him being embarrassed.

            The pub he brings you to isn't exactly what you expected; it's by no means a dive bar where only old Irish sailors lurk around or whatever, and there are definitely a handful of tourists inside, but you see what he meant when he said it was a good place.  The atmosphere doesn't make you feel like you need to run back out the door or that you've walked in somewhere you aren't supposed to be.

            Once Eridan secures a spot in the corner for the two of you, he asks you what you want.  When you ask for cider, he makes a face but goes away with the order anyway, and you resist checking your phone for the time.

            He comes back with a cider that's sloshing over the rim and a precariously balanced pint of Guinness.  You want to tease him about being a stereotypical Irishman, but you figure it's probably better if you wait until you're both a little sloshed to start really digging into him.

            It doesn't take much to get Eridan at least a little tipsy - or maybe he's just using the alcohol as a way to open up, drunk or not - because soon enough, he's explaining to you about how his dad used to yell at him and his brother if they went anywhere near an old tree in their backyard because he was convinced fairies lived in it.  When you say that your brother would happily reinforce those delusions by insisting that there are no wrong beliefs, Eridan laughs and nearly knocks over his beer.  "Don't think that'd be necessary," he says, "Considerin' the asshole's got his delusions down to an artform."

            You end up talking a lot about your brother, which is probably painfully boring for Eridan, but he looks entertained enough when you tell him about all the dumb bullshit you've had to put up with because of Kankri.  You do manage to pull yourself away from bitching about family long enough to talk about school, and he tells you about his photography classes.  (You try not to laugh at how dumb that is.  Of course he's into photography.)

            "You think you might want another round or somethin'?" Eridan asks.

            "Don't patronize me, I can have more than one cider without losing control of my facilities."

            "I was just askin', Jesus.  Back in a minute."

            The second round comes with Eridan gracefully knocking his hip into the table and spilling part of his Guinness onto the tabletop.

            "Smooth," you say, grinning up at Eridan as he swears under his breath.

            "Shut up," he snaps, "Take your fuckin' cider, an' next time you can be the one gettin' the drinks."

            "Assuming I want another drink already?  Kind of presumptuous of your."

            "You told me not to patronize you!"

            "While you're on that, try to make it harder to fluster you."

            Eridan's cheeks are bright red as he gulps down his beer.  He doesn't immediately wipe away the foam mustache, and you think that's pretty fucking cute, to be honest.  "You're fuckin' impossible."

            "Not that impossible."

            "Near enough to be not worth the fuckin' effort."

            You take a hearty swig of your cider and raise an eyebrow.  "Oh, I'm fucking worth it, you're just a bitch."

            "Fuckin' rude!"

            "Still worth it."

            Eridan looks flustered but kind of impressed and you can't really blame him.  You're kind of impressed with yourself too.  You haven't been this forward in years, probably.  But fuck it, you're in a different country, and a cute, bitchy Irish hipster is buying you drinks, so what is there to lose?

            Besides, if you fuck it up, it's not like you'll ever see him again.

            You wonder if he's thinking the same thing, because there's no way he's normally this catty with strangers.  Maybe he does this all the time, though.  You don't know.  By the time you're finished with your second cider, though, you think you're prepared to ask.  "So," you say, down to the dregs, "Do you ask a lot of tourists out in really roundabout ways when you're at work?"

            Eridan shrugs his shoulders and takes a moment to chug down the last of his Guinness.  "Maybe," he says, with a smarmy eyebrow raise, "Maybe I'm out on dates with all sorts'a tourists."

            "Yeah, I bet there are just tons of us falling for your distinct animal magnetism."

            He shrugs and stands.  "It's the accent, from what I've been told.  Another cider?"

            "And a shot of... uh, I dunno, Jameson?  Let's fucking live it up on your tab."

            "Oh, great," he groans, but wanders off anyway.  The pub is still busy, but not so much that you don't have a clear view of Eridan's retreating form across the floor.  Maybe it's the cider talking, but you're having a hard time not noticing how nice his ass looks.  He's wearing skinny jeans for good reason.

            Eridan has to make two trips back; the first one is spent carrying yet another Guinness and cider, and the second follows with two lowball glasses of Jameson.  You accept the whiskey with a curious look, and Eridan says, "I'm not about to let you drink more than me.  It wouldn't be-"

            "If you say gentlemanly, I'm throwing this shot right in your face."

            "...Fair for you to be the only one gettin' really sloshed, is what I was gonna say before you rudely interrupted me to threaten me with wasted liquor."

            "Well, maybe if you stopped kidding yourself about being a complete gentleman, we wouldn't be in this situation, would we?  C'mon, toast something so we can throw these back like men."

            "Fuckin' fine, then."  Eridan swirls his whiskey in its glass as though he really needs to appreciate it, then raises the glass up a bit.  "Here's to folklore, stupid an' fake though it may be."

            It's kind of a stupid toast, but you take it, tipping your glass back against your lips and swallowing down the Jameson without a second thought.  Eridan follows along smoothly, running the back of his hand across his lips afterward, and you follow the move without really thinking about it.  He has nice hands.  Long fingers, a little knobby at the knuckles maybe, with golden rings on a few of his fingers.  It's a little weird, how many rings he has.  You decide not to call it into question.

            The third cider goes down smoothly, but you know well enough by now that three ciders is about all you should have.  The shot probably won't help.  Eridan is complaining about the public transportation in the city and all you want to do is shut him up.  You could probably make out with him, that would shut him up.  You really shouldn't have had all that alcohol.

            "Want a round four?" Eridan asks.

            "Are you feeling it?"

            "Sorta, I guess.  You?"

            "Can't hurt," you say, knowing full well that it can and probably will hurt.  Eridan goes away and you appreciate his retreating form; when he comes back, dodging between two thickset football fans watching the match on the television, you take a moment to appreciate more about how those jeans fit on him.  His face is also really nice.  His nose is just large enough to be almost awkward, and he's got thin lips, but he's got a fantastic jawline and his eyes are bright and wide.  You really want to make out with him a little.  You only live once, right?  He asked you for drinks, after all.  Making out shouldn't be too much more to ask for.  Unless he doesn't think you're worth it.  Aw, shit, what if that's the case?  What if he's just going along with it so he can have someone to drink with?

            "Kar," Eridan snaps, and you blink away from your hundred-yard stare to look at him, sitting across from you with his pint against his lips.  "You okay?"

            "Yeah, fine," you say, and throw back half of your cider in a few huge gulps that you are going to so regret when that carbonation catches up with you.

            "Jeeze, suppose you really were feelin' another drink after all."

            "This is it for me, I don't need any more liquor."

            "Sure, okay."

            You try to think of something to talk about, but you're drawing a blank - other than terrible propositions, you're kind of at a loss of what to talk about - and Eridan seems to be in the same situation, sliding his Guinness a side-to-side, his eyes darting up to look at you from time to time.

            "We should go," you say.

            "Yes," Eridan says, sitting up straight, "Definitely, okay."  He throws back his drink, and you're quick to follow, setting your glass down only a few seconds after him.  "Yeah, let me go get the tab closed."  He's partway out of his seat before he pauses, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows.  "You won't run off the second I turn my back now, will you?"

            "If I haven't already left, I'm not about to bail," you reply, and you can't help but grin a little.  "I'm a gentleman."

            Eridan rolls his eyes but he can't hide the relieved look on his face, and he wanders off through the groups of people to settle the bill.  You wonder if he's had people leave him high and dry a lot, or if you just strike him as the kind of guy to do that.  You really hope it's not the latter.

            You leave your coat off until Eridan gets back, just to make sure he knows you aren't trying to leave early.  As he wiggles around the soccer fanatics, you can see a smile start to make its way across his face; he's got it back down to something more neutral by the time he steps up to the table.  He tilts his head towards the door.  "Ready to go?"

            "Yeah," you say, even though it takes you a minute to figure out your jacket's sleeves, and when you stand, you realize that you really drank too much.  You've pretended to be more sober this drunk before, but not around someone you want to sleep with.

            Wait, what?  You'd just thought maybe some kissing would be in order.  But now that you're standing, and Eridan's helping you get through the crowds of people, his hand gripping yours briefly as he tugs you past old men loitering near the door, you can't help but think that yeah, you could see yourself going all the way here.

            Shit, Kankri's in the room.  That's going to be a pain in your dick, unless Eridan's got a place nearby.  That'd be too lucky though.  Ugh, you really hope you can figure something out.

            Eridan lets go of your hand when you're both safely outside, and you take a few moments to dig out a cigarette.  He lights it for you, then lights his own, and then asks, "So, uh, should I walk you home?  Ehm, I mean.  To wherever it is you're staying."

            "It's a hotel.  And yeah.  You should do that.  I mean, if you want."

            "I offered, didn't I?" Eridan huffs, and you roll your eyes as he starts down the sidewalk.  "This better be the right way, I don't wanna have to turn around."

            "Got it in one, Columbus.  C'mon."  You overtake him with a few quick steps, then grab his hand and lead him on.  You hear him start to say something, but when you look across, he's got his mouth on his cigarette and is staunchly focusing his eyes on the river, instead of on you.  You're pretty sure a sassy bitch like Eridan isn't supposed to be so adorably fucking cagey about this shit, but you aren't complaining.

            You're surprised you know the way back as easily as you do, but the fact of the matter is that there were a lot of obvious landmarks between the pub and your hotel, and you're drunk enough to be rain-manning the shit out of the situation.  Eridan stays quiet and you sort of forget you're holding his hand until he steps wide to get around a garbage bag lying in the pathway, his fingers tightening around yours so that you can't let go.  You're okay with that.

            He pulls you across the street when you say that you need to cross the bridge with glass stepping stones and big white arches, and the rush to avoid a taxi from hitting the both of you makes your head spin.  With the bridge right there, you figure now's a good enough time to say, "Alright, I need to sit like, right the fuck now."

            "We haven't even walked that far," Eridan grouses, but that's as far as his complaining gets as you take him to the stone benches facing the river.  You let go of him and plunk down onto the cold, damp stone, exhaling and realizing that your cigarette got lost somewhere in the last five minutes.  You dig out another one as Eridan settles next to you.

            "I drank way too much," you complain idly, trying once again to get the hotel matches to work for you.  Eridan bats your hand away and lights your cigarette.

            "How much is too much, anyway?"

            "Too much is... too much, I don't fucking know man, why are you hassling me on it?"  You shove him with your elbow and lean forward, resting your arms on your legs.  "Too much is where I'm starting to figure out the logistics of, like, getting my brother out of the room for one goddamn hour so I can... Not deal with him for an hour."

            "Oh yeah?"  Eridan sounds uncomfortable.  You don't look over.  "What are you gonna do with one hour by yourself?"

            You try to be very cool and calm as you suck in smoke and exhale.  "Who said I'm gonna be by myself?"

            "Oh."

            If that isn't the sound of a guy being blindsided by a proposition, you don't fucking know what is.  Quickly, you blink up at him, watching his surprised face as you say, "I mean, I'm not saying you'd be there, or like, anyone would be, or that you'd even be interested in maybe coming up to my room, but I figured, if you were buying me drinks and getting along with me alright enough that-"

            "Wow, hold the fuckin' phone there, Kar, jeeze."  Eridan puts his palm against your forehead.  You think he was aiming for your cheek - the look of consternation of frustration ~~on~~ his face confirms that.  "I didn't say anythin' to indicate that I wouldn't be real fuckin' amenable to the idea.  I'm just sorta - this isn't exactly my modus operandi here, y'know."

            "No, I don't know, because I haven't actually known you for more than a few hours."

            "Exactly."

            "Okay, point." You chew your lip.  "So we're both kind of just fucking around at this point, aren't we."

            "Yeah, looks about right."

            "And this is going to be the single most awkward hookup ever."

            "I wouldn't put it past myself to make it such."

            "But we're pretty much in agreement that this is definitely us hooking up."

            Eridan fidgets and shrugs his shoulders.  "Yeah, I guess."

            "Okay, good," you say, and drop your cigarette so you can grab Eridan by either shoulder, pulling him forward to make it easier to mash your mouth against his.  Not the smoothest execution, but you can go with it.  Eridan yelps and your teeth clack against his, but you press on in drunken determination and are rewarded by one of his arms folding around your shoulders, pulling you in as he returns your sloppy kiss with a little more finesse, though not much more.  His other hand rests on your waist, just above the hem of your jacket, and you figure _why not_ as you murmur into his mouth.

            Eridan pulls away from you with a gasp, his eyebrows flung up and his hat almost falling off.  You can see his roots coming in on the purple streak; it's really pretty cute.  "Holy shit, Kar.  Wanna give me a chance to breathe, maybe?  Christ."

 

            "Sorry," you say, and you laugh because you just fucking have to.  He looks even more blindsided than before you kissed him.  You think you're both being really terrible about this, but you don't care.  "Still on the same page as me?"

            "Is that the page about kicking your brother outta the room you're sharin'?" Eridan asks, adjusting his glasses and his hat in one move.  You grin.

            "Yeah, that's about right.  Let's go."

            "Maybe in just a sec," he says, grabbing the lapel of your jacket and pulling you in for another kiss.  You laugh about it and think that your friends back home would be shocked to see you so pleased about kissing a guy as bitchy as this poor motherfucker.  Fuck them, they can be shocked.

            Eridan makes it short and sweet and you appreciate it for the sheer fact that you want to get back to the hotel as quick as possible.  You don't know how you'll get Kankri out of the room, sure, but you're not going to let that stop you.

            The hotel looms up ahead after not too much walking and Eridan grabs your hand, squeezing tight and refusing to let go. You pull him past the night porters and try not to look around too much as you wait for the elevator to reach the lobby.  Eridan's hand squeezes yours again and you glance to him; he grins and you grin back, drunk and giddy despite the awkwardness. He looks pleased with himself, and if you weren't so pleased yourself, you'd probably try to take him down a peg or two.

            When the elevator opens its doors, Eridan is the one to pull you in, and after you hit the fifth floor button, he pulls you against him, nuzzling your ear before kissing the lobe.

            "You're still sure about this?" he murmurs.

            "If I wasn't, I'd have left by now."

            "Well, I don't know that."

            "Now you do, so shut up.  It's fine."

            "Not if your brother doesn't leave."

            "We'll figure that out when we get there.  If he doesn't leave, we'll figure something else out.  Trust me."

            "Might just tell him to get out myself," Eridan grouses.  You roll your eyes and push him away as the doors open.

            "Feel fucking free, let's do this."  You pull him out into the hallway and he stumbles to follow, a little startled laugh escaping.  You wonder how this happened - how the night built up to this moment without you even realizing what was about to happen - but you just can't figure it out.  That's okay, you guess.  Some things just happen.

            The news is blaring from inside your room, and you try really hard not to bang your head against the door.  "He didn't even know Tesco was a grocery store, and now he won't shut up about it, thanks to the fucking news."

            "How d'you _not_ know Tesco's a supermarket?"

            "The world doesn't revolve around the old country, asshole.  C'mon, let's deal with this."

            You open the door to find Kankri sitting at the foot of the bed in his awful matching pajama set, and you can only hope that Eridan won't take one look at him an turn celibate himself.

            "You, out," you say.  The less he knows about what's going on, the better.

            "Excuse me?"

            "Out."

            "Who is that?  Are we being robbed?  I know that Dublin has a relatively high crime rate and-"

            To your surprise, Eridan steps forward and pulls a bill out of his pocket.  "I'll give you a tenner if you'd just shut up, an' another five if you go watch the news in the hotel bar instead'a right here for an hour.  Sound fair an' fuckin' clear to you?"

            Kankri looks mortally offended.  You probably wouldn't blame him in any other situation, but right now you don't care.  "Karkat, just who is this?"

            "A guy.  Seriously, Kankri, either get out or put in your headphones, because I am drunk and I am horny and I am sure as fuck going to solve one or both problems tonight, whether or not you're in the room when I do."

            Kankri gapes at you.  Eridan is staring at you too, completely shocked by your bluntness.  You don't give a shit.  "It's now or never," you add after a moment passes by with no response.

            Kankri pales and jumps up.  Somehow, though, even as horrified as he is, he still manages to give you a self-righteous look, like he thinks you're being morally reprehensible for wanting to get laid.  You know that's what he's thinking, but you don't give a shit.  If your brother is happy being celibate, that's his deal, not yours.

            He slides past Eridan like he's afraid he'll catch something, but he doesn't seem to mind grabbing the money out of his hand.  You shouldn't be surprised; as righteous as Kankri is, he's still got a mind for money.  Especially when he can couple it with derision towards someone.

            The door clicks shut behind Kankri, and then you and Eridan are left standing alone in the room with two double beds and a blasting television.  You turn it off, then turn to Eridan; he's taken off his cap and is rolling the bill between his hands, looking as though he's been called into a principal's office instead of being alone with someone who wants to sleep with him.

            "You doing okay over there?" you ask, unable to keep the grin off your face.  Eridan blushes scarlet and looks around.

            "Yeah, I'm just fuckin' fine.  Just.  Y'know."

            "Yeah."  You take a couple steps back towards him, then stop and lick your lips.  "Maybe it'd be better if you came over here."

            "Okay," he says, and he takes a few cautious steps.  You take his cap out of his hands and toss it onto Kankri's bed.

            "Maybe you should kiss me again.  That worked the last time."

            "Okay," he says again, and then he laughs and grabs you by the back of the head and kisses you, a little hesitantly at first but with growing vigor as you respond with your teeth on his lower lip and your tongue brushing against his.  It's sloppy and sometimes he doesn't kiss you right on the mouth, instead pressing his lips to the corner of yours without thinking about it.  You're okay with that.  You don't mind at all.

            His fingers thread through your thick hair, and you groan into his mouth, your fingers already fumbling with the buttons holding his coat together.  You don't have too much trouble with them, undoing them from top to bottom, then sliding your hands under the fabric and around his sides.  He presses against you and you laugh when he tries to toe his shoes off, even though he's got them laced tight.  He staggers against you, then takes another step, and you find your knees hitting the edge of your bed, so you sit, and he comes down with you. 

            When he puts one knee up on the mattress, you can see his jeans stretching with the move, and you can see his dick pressing up against the denim, and _wow_ okay, that's something you can get behind.  He kisses you again before you can say anything about it, and you bite the tip of his tongue and use both of your hands to grab his ass, pulling him forward and down until he's bent over you.  When you pull away from the kiss this time, his lips are swollen and shiny, and his glasses are hanging down his nose.

            "Jesus, Kar," he murmurs, and you frown.

            "What?"

            "Just fuckin' overeager, is all," he says, and then he smirks and says, "Can't say I fuckin' blame you, since we got to the pub I was tryin' to imagine how'd this be goin' down."

            "Presumptuous," you say, and he raises an eyebrow, climbing up onto the bed and resting his left knee between your legs.  He rocks forward on it and you exhale sharply when he presses against the base of your dick.

            "Ain't that fuckin' presumptuous, I'm thinkin'," he says.  You snatch his glasses in retaliation and drop them down beside the bed.  He doesn't complain, which you think is probably a marked surprise for the both of you.  "All I know is I really fuckin' wanna do this, though, so you can call me whatever you damn well want to."

            "I'm not calling you anything until you get the fuck on with it," you say, and he sighs briefly before leaning down to kiss you.  His lips miss yours, and you tilt your head back when he starts dropping kisses along your jawline, one hand supporting him while the other tugs at your jacket, unzipping it and pulling it aside.  You scramble out of it and your overshirt, and Eridan pulls the collar of your shirt down until he finds your collarbone, sucking and nipping at the skin there until there's a dark bruise blooming.  You should tell him not to leave too many of those.  You utterly fail to do that.

            Eridan's thigh brushes up between your legs and you roll your hips, adjusting your grip on him until you can drop one of your hands down; you pull at the button and zipper of your fly and groan when Eridan licks the hollow of your throat.  Once you undo your own jeans, you start to realize that maybe Eridan could use some help too, and you quickly stumble over yourself to undo his fly as well.  Eridan's hips rock shallowly against your hand, and you can hear him making near-silent noises at the prospect of what your hands are doing.

            "God," he says.

            "Yeah, okay," you say, "That works," and then you push your hand through the slit of his briefs and wrap your fingers around his dick.  He makes a strangled noise and drops his forehead to rest against your shoulder.  "You're pretty big," you can't help but murmur.  He chuckles, a breathy hitch in his throat.

            "Thanks."

            He ruts against your hand for a minute, kissing random spots of visible skin, and then he sits back on his knees, pushing his jeans and underwear down until his cock is hanging out, heavy and dark at the head.  He looks down at you with a flushed face and embarrassment written over every inch of his expression, and you don't know how best to soothe him so you just touch his hipbone with one hand.

            "Still okay?" he asks.

            "Still okay," you say, and then his hands reach down to pull at your own pants and underwear.  You're not really as long as Eridan, but the look he gives you when he finally gets to see your dick is impressed, and you guess you're okay with that.

            "You wanna get it?" Eridan asks, and you roll your eyes at that shitty fucking proposition.

            "Yeah, I wanna 'get it', you overly embarrassed motherfucker."

            "I fuckin' meant a condom, you bilgesuckin' idiot."

            You feel yourself blushing and you try to think if you even brought any protection to begin with.  "Oh," you say, and Eridan sighs.

            "Do you not have anythin'?"

            "Hold on," you mutter, and when you roll onto your stomach to reach into your backpack, Eridan's hands slide under your shirt, up your back to your shoulders.  You tense only briefly, and then he's rubbing your shoulders and pressing his dick against your ass, and you're gasping for breath.  "Fuck, Eridan."

            "Hurry up," he mutters, and his hands drop to the waistband of your jeans.  You squirm and blindly dig around your backpack until you find the shitty novelty condom you'd bought for Sollux, something written on the packaging about kissing the Blarney stone (if you get what it means), and you try really hard not to let Eridan see the wrapper as you tear it open.

            "Help me with my pants," you say, and Eridan chuckles as he pulls at the denim, helping you shimmy out of the offending clothing by pulling as you wiggle and squirm.  They're around your shins when Eridan kisses the small of your back, one hand reaching up to push your shoulders down, encouraging you to arch your back, your face pressed against the plush comforter and your ass sticking up in the air.  You feel a little embarrassed to be seen like this.  Mostly, you're too drunk to be embarrassed.

            "Lube," he says, and you gesture to the bathroom.

            "Lotion," you tell him, and you watch with your cheek lying on the comforter as he kicks off his shoes and finally pulls his own pants and underwear off, dropping his coat and shirt as he moves across the room.  You wrap a hand around your dick and stroke yourself as you watch him through the angled mirrors of the closet and the bathroom.  He's panting.

            You close your eyes when he remerges from the bathroom, and your hips twitch involuntarily when you feel him climb on the bed.  His hand grabs your wrist and pulls your hand away from yourself, and he kisses your tailbone.  You hand him the condom and he rips the tinfoil, hissing a little as he rolls the latex over his dick.  He presses the back of his hand against your cock and you close your eyes and try not to get suddenly nervous.

            "Right here," he says, like he's trying to reassure you.  You appreciate it.

            "Hurry up," you say to show your appreciation.

            "Jesus, relax," he snaps, and he chucks the lotion cap onto Kankri's bed.  You squirm and spread your legs a little further apart.  His hands abandon you; you groan and push your face into the comforter.

            "Please," you hear yourself say, and it embarrasses you to hear the lack of backtalking in your voice.  "Eridan, _seriously_..."

            "Calm down," he repeats, but gentler this time, and then you feel him pressing the pad of one of his fingers against your ass.  You know that you're too antsy to do this right out of the gate, but god do you wish you could just _go_ for it already.

            He takes his time stretching you; the first finger makes you twitch and gasp, and the second draws out a heady moan.  As he works, he kisses your tailbone a few more times and murmurs unintelligible things to himself.  You pick out a few things, like, "I can't wait to fuck you," and, "You're so tight," but he's too quiet for you to get all of it.  It doesn't matter, though.  What you do hear has you rocking against the third finger before it's even in.

            "I can't wait any more," you say finally, "Eridan, c'mon, I can't-"

            "Okay," he hisses, sounding beyond ready himself.  "God, okay.  Stop fuckin' rushin' me."

            "I swear to fucking god, if you don't fuck me in the next thirty seconds I am kicking you right the fuck out of here."

            Eridan chuckles, not exactly a pleasant sound, and runs his hands up your thighs, over your asscheeks, spreading them slightly.  "Yeah, I'm real fuckin' sure that's how that'll go down."

            "Don't even fucking te- _est!_ "  You cut yourself off with a yelp as Eridan presses the head of his dick into you, lotion-slicked and bigger than you were actually anticipating, and you bring an arm in front of you, biting down on your wrist to keep your yowling down to a more manageable level.  Eridan slides in, centimeters at a time, two inches, then another, and you can feel yourself drooling against your arm.  He's thicker than you expected.  You can't catch your breath.  Behind you, Eridan is groaning, his hands on your ass, his stomach pressing against your back as he bends over you.

            "Holy fff-uckin' shit, Kar," he whines, and you clench your hands into the comforter.

            You can already feel sweat starting to form across your back and your brow by the time Eridan's sunk all the way into you, the muscles in his legs quaking against your thighs, tiny gasping breaths escaping him.  He already feels like he's going to burst.

            "Can I move?" he asks, and you'd find it funny if he didn't sound so completely torn apart.  You know it isn't exactly fear that you're hearing in his voice, but it sounds so close to it that any catty remarks you might've had fall terribly short.

            "Yeah, okay," is all you mange to say, and you're surprised your voice comes out as tremulous and anxious as his.

            Eridan's a lot of sharp angles compared to you, and when he fucks you, you can feel his hipbones against the curve of your ass with every thrust.  He keeps one hand on your hip, the other bracing himself against the mattress, and every few thrusts has him going slightly shallower, slightly softer, and you don't get why until he manages to hit your prostate on one slow, sloping thrust.

            " _Fuck_!" you shout, and you reach back with your arm until your hand finds his hair, yanking him forward and forcing him to scramble for balance.  You twist your neck until you can just barely kiss him, and then you kiss him as much as you can, bending your back and helping him angle his thrusts as best you can.  He breathes against your cheek and shifts his knees until he can push himself entirely inside you, a hand grabbing your chin so that he can kiss you as properly as the position can allow.  When he pulls away, it's only to rest his forehead against your shoulder blade, his hips pistoning as he fucks you raw, random shallow thrusts hitting your prostate and making you sob and bow your head.

            It's only when he reaches between your legs and wraps his hand around your cock that you stop thinking entirely, twisting the sheets in your hands and jerking erratically between his hips and his hand as he strokes you hard.  He urges you on, not put off in the slightest by you becoming a moaning, wriggling mess, and you hear him mumble more nonsensical things into your shoulder.  "C'mon, oh, _fuck_ , yes, so close, so close-"

            " _Harder_ ," you snarl at him, and he responds by pulling away, his hands grabbing your waist, and he starts pounding into you, grunting with every hard thrust that sends jagged spikes of sensation up through your guts.

 

            You disentangle one hand and grasp your dick, trying to match Eridan's heavy, hard movements with your own quick strokes.  It doesn't take much more than that for you to come, rutting into your hand, and Eridan bends over you again and starts babbling almost incoherently into your ear, some foreign words strung out in front of a halting exclamation, "I'm, I'm, I'm gonna, oh _fff-uck_ , I'm gonna-"

            You feel Eridan's entire body twist against you, and his next few thrusts are deep and long and accompanied by his gasping inhalations.  You feel fucking satiated.  He kisses the back of your neck as he thrusts one last time, pulling out of you with a satisfied groan.

            "Jesus," you say, and fall forward onto the brutalized sheets.  Eridan sits on the edge of the bed and you roll over to face him, watching as he makes a face and carefully pulls the condom off.

            "Ugh.  Fuckin' disgustin'.  One sec."

            It's only when he makes his way over to the bathroom that you realize he's still wearing his socks, and the fact that he fucked you _wearing only socks_ makes you groan and pull a pillow over your head.  What a fucking loser.  Sollux will never let you live this down when you tell him.  If you tell him.

            Eridan comes back and reaches down to swipe his glasses off the floor, sliding them on before sitting on the edge of the bed once again.  He's got his underwear in hand.  "Uh, so," he says.

            "So," you reply, because how else are you supposed to react?

            "I should probably... go, huh."

            You look at the clock on the television.  "Kankri'll be gone for another half hour, if you wanna watch some T.V. with me instead."

            Eridan breathes a sigh of relief, and you squirm around until you can pull up the edge of the covers for the both of you.  "That's loads better'n dealin' with the fuckin' cold."

            It's only once you're both under the covers, Eridan's arm draped under your shoulders, that you realize this is probably the most awkward thing you two could possibly be doing.  You're pretty sure hookups aren't supposed to go this way at all.

            "So, uh.  I'm not really sure how this is supposed to go down once the initial shit is over with," you admit a little reluctantly as Eridan switches the channel over to a sports recap for the football game that had been on earlier.  His arm bends so that he can run his hand through your hair.

            "Me neither, to be honest.  Never really done it before."

            "Could've fooled me, you seemed to get the slot-A and peg-B thing pretty well."

            "Shut the fuck up, you _know_ what I fuckin' meant."

            You roll your eyes.  "Yeah, I do.  It's not my thing either.  I'm usually a pretty big recluse, so doing anything like this is... kind of weird.  We're being weird, I think."

            "Yeah, probably a bit.  But that's all right with me."  Eridan hesitates.  "If it's all right with you."

            "If it wasn't, I wouldn't be here right now."

            Eridan exhales next to you and doesn't say anything more about it, so you decide the subject's probably as closed as its going to get.  You don't mind; you're fine with watching football recaps and listening to Eridan hum in irritation at the various shortcomings of whatever team he's rallying behind.

            It's a little before two when Kankri opens up the door, and you realize that maybe it's time for Eridan to go.  Or at least put on some clothes.  Kankri gives you a warning look when you demand ten more minutes, but he doesn't stick around to bitch about it.

            "He's a real fuckin' pain in the ass," Eridan grouses as he gets dressed.  You yank your jeans from under his feet and nearly send him sprawling.

            "Could say the same thing about you," you point out, and Eridan covers his face with his hands, groaning in good-natured exasperation.  "I'll walk you out," you add as a sort of apology.

            "Yeah, okay."

            It's only as he's pulling on his cap that you realize you don't want to just go your separate ways.  "Hold on a sec," you say, waving a hand at him as he raises an eyebrow at you.  You dig through the desk drawer until you find one of the pens and a notepad, and scribble out your name, e-mail and internet handle, tearing off the paper and folding it in half before handing it over.  "Don't fucking lose that."

            "Definitely won't," he says, and you can see the tips of his ears getting pink as he shoves the note into his coat pocket.  You lead him out of the room and hold his hand as you walk past Kankri, just to piss him off.

            Nobody pays any attention to either of you as you walk Eridan out of the hotel, keeping your foot in the door so that it won't lock behind you.  Eridan shuffles nervously for a moment before leaning forward; you manage to catch his mouth with your own, instead of accidentally letting him kiss your cheek or something equally as terrible.  He grins a little stupidly after that.

            "I'll shoot you a message," he says.

            "Yeah, do that," you reply, and you can't help but check out his ass as he turns and heads down the street.  You hope you see him around again before your vacation's over.

            When you check your e-mail in the morning, you see that you have a friend request from Eridan on Facebook, along with a message detailing his workshift for the next two weeks.  "Just in case," he tags on.

            Yeah, you definitely think you'll be seeing him around again.


End file.
